End My Night
by CrystallineMaple
Summary: After an international epidemic breaks out, the rules are simple. Every man for himself. So Alfred Jones decides to form 'alliances' with other survivors he meets, doing whatever they can to live. But just how long can they survive in such a world? AU, post-apocalyptic.
1. Breaking & Falling

I remember when it first came out.

By 'it', I don't mean a new totally awesome XBox game, or a limited-time ice cream flavor at the Coldstone Creamery down the street, where I crammed most of my studying with friends over bowls of fresh vanilla sundaes.

By 'it', I mean The Disease.

The Disease, an outbreak of a horrible killing epidemic. I'm American, and I don't just mean my country. I mean worldwide. Cases were being reported everywhere from Europe to Asia and back.

Out of my family of the Jones, I'm the only one left. Kind of. I do have this half-brother living in some Canadian place like Ontario or Quebec named Matthew Williams, but once Canada was reported down, I gave up hope of ever seeing him again.

My dad was killed in the military when I was twelve, and my mom died when I was fifteen. She had cancer. All of this happened before The Disease broke out, so I was sent to live with my grandparents.

However, as soon as the epidemic flew out of control, their elderly frames just couldn't take it and they passed in a flurry of gut-wrenching coughing and dehydration and just horrible things.

So I guess you could say I'm the lone survivor.

I'm Alfred Jones.

I got in touch with a couple of my friends before The Disease 'Broke', as you'll hear people say- that is, what people said before they all died- but it was all the same- family's dying, and I think I'm going the same way soon.

School was cancelled as soon as The Disease Broke, but it didn't do any good. It still spread, and spread, and spread. School was only supposed to be closed until doctors and scientists found a cure, but it was too late.

As more and more people died, the survivors started to call the outbreak The Falling, after all those who fell.

Teachers went down, then students, then everyone else, and all throughout the place you could hear horrible coughing, one of the symptoms of The Disease.

So, maybe you could say my senior year _sucked?_

* * *

"Shit. Ow."

I bring my hand to my mouth and bare my teeth, ripping a shard of glass out of my palm. The blood flows out, but I press it against the snow on the ground, and soon enough, it becomes numb.

At least the new cut is on my left hand, not my right one. I'm right-handed, and a couple of weeks ago I found this long metal bar, hard and heavy, that I use to smash open windows and loot whatever is inside.

The hotel I'm breaking into is quiet. Nobody is inside from what I can tell, at least nobody alive. Whoever was here last locked the door before they died, but that's it. I can tell because laying on a couch in the lobby is a corpse, the rotting smell making my stomach churn.

It takes all my willpower not to throw up, but I grab the corpse and throw it out the broken window. Soon enough, with the cool winter breeze flowing through the place, the smell will be gone.

Since there's already snow on the ground even though it's only November, the hotel is reminding more and more of a skii resort. The lobby has a high ceiling, the wooden rafters arching up and up, the walls are stone, and couches and tables gather around a huge stone fireplace.

There's a bar in one corner of the lobby, a huge flatscreen TV perched on the wall. I know it won't work, but I humor myself and press one of the buttons. The screen stays blank and dull.

There's a mini fridge that doesn't work anymore behind the bar, no lock. A couple of apples are covered in mold, and I wrinkle my nose at them, but there's a couple of sodas, two gallon-sized containers filled with water, and a jar of curdled milk. I leave the fruit and milk in the fridge and decide to check out the kitchen.

Most hotels have kitchens, and depending on how long the people inside have been dead, I can sometimes find fresh food and drinks. Oh well, water and soda is a good loot anywhere.

It takes me a couple of minutes to find the kitchen. The hotel's massive, echoing and empty. When I first fled from my home and ran for it, taking the car and stealing gas from vehicles that contained dead drivers, I used to have nightmares about zombies. I know, it sounds totally not heroic, but come on.

In a place where pretty much everyone you see is hacking up blood, trying to kill you, or a decomposing corpse, you're gonna worry about stuff like that, even though you know it's not true.

I step into the kitchen. It would be dark, except for a huge window letting sunlight stream in. It's cloudy and dark, and cold too. I hold the metal bar tight, sometimes breaking things to get into food, until I hear footsteps.

I slink further back into the kitchen.

There's a guy there, about my age, maybe a year or two older, looking like he should be in college. He probably was, before The Falling.

His back is to me, I have the advantage of surprise, but he seems unarmed.

He has golden-blonde hair and is wearing a green jacket and jeans, a dark gray scarf around his neck. He's looking at something, probably a container of food. Now, unprovoked, of course I won't attack him. I won't kill him, either, unless it comes to that.

When I see survivors around that aren't infected, I don't bother them unless they bother me.

I take another step forward and the metal bar I have clangs against a metal table, sending the loud noise around the empty kitchen.

The guy jumps and turns around, his eyes wide in horror. When he sees the metal bar in my hand, he backs away slowly. "I don't have any weapons," he whispers. "Please don't hurt me. You can have all the food here if you want."

I lift up the metal bar.

He fliches. "Please, no..."

In response, I drop the metal bar. It clatters on the floor, the sound way louder than when I bumped into the table.

"I won't hurt you," I say. "I'm Alfred Jones."


	2. Arthur Kirkland

"I'm Arthur Kirkland," the man says, letting out a sigh of relief. "I'm from London. I came here visiting relatives when The Falling happened. Now that's a stroke of bad luck- left to die in a country you don't even know much about."

"Sorry," I say. "I ran away from where I live."

"Your folks couldn't take care of you?"

"No. They all died, so I looted what I could and got the hell out."

"Oh." Arthur looks sad. "I'm sorry."

I haven't chatted with another person in ages. The last person I actually spoke to was a girl I saw in a hotel I had broken into previously. She was the only other survivor in the hotel at that time. Said her name was Elizabeta, and when I asked her if she wanted to travel with me, she just shook her head sadly.

"I would. But I have The Disease. You need to trust me- I can feel it running in my veins. I will be dead soon, and I don't want to get you sick, too. I'm sorry, Alfred," she said. So I left the hotel and drove away. Even though I had planned to spend the night there, I didn't want to her hear coughing, I didn't want to leave her when I knew she was really sick.

So I did leave. I left her to die, on her own.

Talking to Arthur, I realize how lonely I've been.

"Want to travel together?" Arthur asks.

I shrug. "Sure."

"Let's check the rest of the kitchen," Arthur says, moving over to let me pass. I shake my head. "No, dude. You go first."

"Hmm?" Arthur asks. "Why?"

"I don't want you stabbing me in the back."

"How do I know you won't do that to _me?" _Arthur asks, as if hurt by my caution. I wasn't like this before. Before the Break and the Falling, I was just another regular going-into-senior-year-of-high-school kid. The average All-American guy.

Now, not so much.

"I've got a car," I say. "Loaded with my stuff. Parked out front."

"A car?" Arthur asks, his eyes going wide. "How do you get gas?"

Oh, poor guy. He's been traveling everywhere on foot- in these parts of the country, buildings and towns were built far apart. You've gotta feel sorry for someone who's just walking, especially on foot.

"If I see cars in which the driver died, I just sip the gas out."

"I've heard of that technique," Arthur says. "I've never done it before, though. Isn't it dangerous?"

"Yeah. But I'd rather do that than walk... no offense."

* * *

As I heat up a can of soup and pour two sodas, all taken from the hotel, standing in a random room, I come to know Arthur Kirkland.

He's sitting cross-legged on the bed while I work in the hotel suite's small kitchen area. The stove doesn't work anymore, so I'm boiling water with matches- I don't know why I know how to do this, but I do.

Arthur came from the UK to the US to visit some relatives when It Broke out, and flights were cancelled. He wasn't worried until The Falling happened. He was stuck here. Across the seas, his family slowly died, including his mom, dad, and little siblings, Kaelin and Peter.

He doesn't know why he didn't die, too.

"Soup's done," I say, scavenging for some bowls and spoons in the cabinet.

"Thanks," Arthur says. "So, tell me about yourself."

"Mm?" I ask, sipping the soup, sitting down on the bed next to him. "Well, not much to know, really. Born and bred American. Family's dead, except for maybe Matthew. I don't know about him."

"Who's Matthew?"

"My half-brother. Last I heard, he's somewhere in Canada."

"Oh."

"Yeah," I mutter, my chicken noodle soup suddenly that much less appetizing. "This was supposed to be my Senior Year of high school."

"That's not good. Was my first year of college, obviously it didn't go far."

"Sorry, man. That really is awful."

"Yeah, I guess everyone's lives are like that now..." His green eyes lost their shine for a moment, and his head hangs. He stares at his soup.

"Have you talked to anyone else since the Falling?" I wonder.

"No," Arthur says. "Actually, yes."

"Who was it?" I ask.

"There's a group of people running this vast Survivor Prison..."

"Prison?" I ask, spooning more soup into my mouth. It's hot and burns down my throat. Since there's no heat, it feels great. "Did they take over the abandoned jail in that area or somethin'?"

"No, it's this camp-area. If you pass by, they capture you and steal your supplies, then keep you at the base."

"What the hell is the point of that?"

"I don't know," Arthur says. "I got held up there for a few days- I finally got out when I stole a gun and held it to their head. Sure, they could have just shot me, but they already took my stuff and decided it wasn't worth it. They let me go."

"Huh," I say. "Well, enough of depressing things. I'm going to go sleep in the room next door, alright? Yell if you need help."

"No worries, I've got those kitchen knives," Arthur jokes, and I smile.

I settle down on the bed next door as the sun sets. I haven't slept much, and it took me a while to find this hotel, a place where I could finally rest, but I can't fall asleep.

All I can think of is the Survivor Base, and how I left Elizabeta behind, how sad it is children and old people and everyone is just dying.

Before The Breaking and Falling, I lived in an almost picture-perfect world: lots of girls liked me, I had many bro-friends, and it was the year of pizza and pool parties, basketball, and- for God's sake- blankets with sleeves.

Even though homework could be a pain, and occasional sports injuries were not fun, it was still a great world to live in.

Now my life is basically wake up, break into places, steal, stay alive.

I'd take a broken arm and a pile of homework any day.


	3. Survivors

"Alfred, Alfred, wake up."

"Five more minutes, mom," I mutter, rolling over.

"I am not your mother! Get up. Hurry!"

I'm pulled from the land of sleep by an urgent Brit. Arthur looks worried. He hands me a towel, half a bar of soap, a toothbrush, and some toothpaste. "You need to get ready, now," he says. "And hurry!"

I hop in the bathtub, showering a bin of water over me. It's freezing cold, but I could hear the fear in Arthur's voice. I brush my teeth and throw on some clothes.

Arthur is standing by the window.

"What? What is it?"

He points his finger. A van has pulled up in the empty, icy parking lot. Two men clamber around, and even from this high up, I can see they're loaded down with guns. Not little handguns, either. Huge guns.

"What?" I exclaim. "How long have they been here?"

"They pulled up right before you got in the shower. But they're not trying to come inside."

"Why not?"

"They saw that the window was broken," Arthur says. "They think there's someone inside."

"We have to hurry," I say. "My car is parked in the back. We need to get out before they find it."

"There's a back exit."

"Good. Most of my stuff is in my car. You?"

Arthur grabs a bag out of the corner of the room and holds it up. "I've got some stuff in here. I also have a stash downstairs- more stuff I found from the kitchen yesterday. We need to hurry."

I take Arthur's bag holding his clothes, toiletries, and I think he has a knife in there. He gets the bag of supplies from the kitchen.

"You totally looted it?" I ask.

"Yes," he says. "Anyhow, it's too late to do a final scan. Go, go."

We exit through a back entrance in the kitchen.

I hop into the car, throwing a couple of things in the back to make room for Arthur in the passenger seat.

"Gas?" He asks.

I check. "Full."

"Good."

We slowly cruise to the front, where I know the van is.

A guy runs up to us.

"GO!" Arthur yells, and I'm about to gun the engine, until I see the guy drop his gun and hold up his hands, a sign of peace. I shudder to a halt and let him come over, rolling down the window.

"You came from this hotel?" His voice has a distinct accent I can't identify.

"What of it?" I demand, raising my chin. He's defenseless, meanwhile I have my metal bar nestled by my feet, a gun next to me. His gun is twenty feet behind him in the parking lot.

"Do you have medicine? Please, please, I'm begging you. My friend is sick"-

"The Disease?" I ask. "If that's the case, you'll be gone in a matter of days."

"No, not the Disease," the guy says, his voice anxious. He's got dirty blonde hair and glasses. "He's got a fever, and he's throwing up. Don't you have something?"

"Come on, Alf"- Arthur begins.

"Prove it," I say.

"Don't make them prove it," Arthur says.

"Why not?"

"I recognize them," Arthur replies evenly. "The Survivor Prison. They were there with me. Glad to see you made it out, Ed."

"You too, Arthur. I'm Eduard von Bock," the guy says, smiling kindly.

"Who's sick?" Arthur asks.

"Raivis."

"Oh, the poor child. Alfred, get some medicine. Please."

"Fine." I reach into the back, unzip a pouch, and drop two pills of Aspirin into Eduard's hand.

"My God, thank you so much," Eduard says to Arthur and me. I nod, and Arthur frowns. "Take care, Eduard."

"You too." I know it's rare, pure coincidence Arthur met up with Eduard again, but I'm betting it will never happen again. He runs back to the van, stopping to pick up his gun on the way. I stiffen, but Arthur shakes his head. "It's all right."

I see Eduard point to our car, showing the pills in his hand to a brunette that's walked out from behind their van. The brunette waves and yells something, but I don't hear. I speed away.

"Did you hear what he said?" I ask.

"That was Toris. I think he said, 'Good luck.'"

* * *

"Oi!"

"What? What is it?" I swerve and jerk the car back onto the road, my heart beating fast.

"Sorry," Arthur says. "I just thought I saw someone."

"Hey." I narrow my eyes and slow the car down. There are people, a group of tents on the side of the road. "Should we stop?"

"Go ahead," Arthur says, and I notice he grabs the gun, holding it steady. I am even more aware of the metal bar at my foot, just next to the brake.

I roll down the window. "Hey!"

A man walks out of the tent, his gun pointed at us. "What've you got?"

"Nothing," I reply.

"Get out of the car. Let us search it."

"Can I see a search warrant?" I retort.

The man fires a bullet. I duck, but it only hits the side of the car.

"Fuck!"

I hear another gunshot rip through the air, and I think, _Here comes death, _but as soon as I poke my head back up, I see the man fall, shot in the chest, I can hear Arthur screaming, "Go, _go, _oh my God, GO" and I take off, tires screeching, into rapidly darkening night.


End file.
